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“Is it that obvious?” she asked. “Okay, well then, forget this stuff; let’s get to the point.” Her dawdling had worked, however. Her brother had had time to provide drinks for all, and the small party had moved to the living room couches. Melinda led the way to her culinary studio and waited for him to take it in.
“This place puts Paul’s cabin to shame.” Grant appeared to catch himself for having brought up a touchy topic. “I mean...I’m sorry,” he finished. The relief she felt at his awkwardness was probably inappropriate, but she felt it, nonetheless.
“It’s okay. And I agree—he didn’t even have a hood for his range,” she scoffed. “Amateur.”
Grant grinned at her, relief in his eyes as well. “Total amateur. Okay, walk me through it, drawer by drawer. I know you want to.”
~
Melinda was radiant. She was radiant every day and every minute he had known her. But now, in her element, talking about wire versus bamboo whisks, she very nearly glowed. He tried to listen, but he was so distracted by her fingers as they stroked the knife handles, by her mouth as she expounded on the importance of ceramic bowls for kneading bread, by the way she plucked one bare foot from its slipper to prop it against the opposite knee. How could he listen at a time like this?
Before he knew it, much too soon, Melinda’s tour of her creative space was over. Now what? He wasn’t ready to share her yet. Oblivious to his reticence, she led him from the kitchen to join the others. Together they walked toward Katrina, Aarjav, and Buck on couches, and Max and Melisa where they sat on large square floor cushions. Her hand rested on his arm, but in the face of the onlookers she pulled it away. Dammit. He wanted more time.
Kat was watching him. He could feel it. He caught her eye and tried to wipe all longing for her daughter from his face. All he needed was a maternal shutdown, or worse, for his father to reveal Grant’s high school yearbook and take everyone on a Samsonian flashback. But Kat surprised him.
“Mafi.” She smiled at her son where he sat at her feet. “I haven’t toured Christmas lights in ages. What do you say you take your old mom out for a drive to see if Denver does lights better than Bellingham?”
“This oughta be good,” Buck chimed in. “Of course it does. I’m going, too.” He stood and ambled toward the door. Kat and Max followed suit.
“Dad, what are you talking about? You hate Christmas li—” Buck cut him a look. Shut up. Roger that, but why?
“Ah, lovely idea.” Aarjav rubbed his palms together before adjusting his glasses and standing. “What fun. I’ll go along as well. Dhana, when did we last do this?”
“Not for years, my love.” Kat took the hand he extended. Both of them walked to the front door and slipped into their coats.
“May I join you?” asked Melisa as she rose from her spot on the floor. “I’ve got a minivan. We’ll all fit. Plus I only had one sip of that delicious drink and I’m fine to drive.”
“Excellent.” Katrina draped a scarf around her neck. “I had rather a bit more.”
“Dibs on the back seat,” Max said as he laced up his boots.
“Same here.” Buck clapped Max on the back. “This’ll be fun. And good to go before the winds kick up.”
Fun?Grant was so confused as to be worried. What was wrong with his father?
Melinda looked around. “I know I put my boots around here somewhere.” She hunted behind the coffee table.
“Malina, love,” said her mother. “Someone must stay here and guard the roast. Would you be a dear and do that for us?” She slid her hands into her gloves. “And, Grant, I know it’s too soon for me to be making demands of you, but would you mind keeping her company? I worry about both of my children, of course, but mostly Malina with her do-or-die cooking. Plus, she’s got a lot to finish in there and could use the help. She won’t accept it from us. Control issues.” The last phrase was stage-whispered at Grant specifically, and he laughed.
When Katrina looked away he narrowed his eyes. They were being set up. Abandoned in the most generous way. Grant nodded and agreed. Of course he agreed. He hoped they’d stay out all night.
With minimal bustle, the group paraded out the door, promising to be back by dinner.
The remaining silence was the loudest thing Grant had heard all day.
He turned to Melinda. Was there a rock in her stomach as well? Why was he brought here? Was he here because she wanted him here or because she needed closure? He searched her face. She looked the way he felt: nervous, guilty, and a little scared. But why would she feel that way? She hadn’t done anything wrong.
She fiddled with the strings of her apron. Her eyes searched her condo for a place to land. Her hands tucked and re-tucked her hair behind her ears. Grant had to come up with something fast.
“Can I help with dinner?” Unless that was why she was nervous and scared—because she remembered what he was like in the kitchen.
“Sure.” She appeared to steady herself. “The roast is already in the oven. It needs another hour and then we’ll let it rest. We’ve got to make a salad, bake the bread, cook the bhapa aloo, which is like a mustardy potato dish, the rice, the doi maach—a fish curry—and the Bengal gram. Uh, chickpeas, basically. Plus some steamed vegetables. It should be pretty straightforward. My dad started a dessert, but we could make something else, too.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She cocked her head at him. All right, she was.
“It’ll be easier now that everyone’s gone.” Was that excitement he caught in her eyes? She must have thought that all sounded like a walk in the park. Whereas he thought it sounded like being at a wild game park—where he was the game.
